


There's No Pride (In Sharing Scars to Prove It)

by albertenthusiast (so_real)



Series: Of Love and Other Messes [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i just wanted race and spot to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_real/pseuds/albertenthusiast
Summary: Set a few months after Wonderful Mess, the one in which Race and Spot talk about their break-up and sort things out.





	There's No Pride (In Sharing Scars to Prove It)

**Author's Note:**

> Welp! I'm back with another ralbert fic. Basically I felt super bad about the way Race and Spot had ended up bc it made Spot look like the villain so here I am trying to right my wrongs.
> 
> Also I'm starting a new series (which should be called the Bastille series tbh) so let's see how that works out.
> 
> Title is from the song Fake It by Bastille (as you probably guessed). 
> 
> As always I hope you enjoy this! <3

It was on a Monday mid September when Race got the text. It caught him in the middle of a shift and left him feeling unsettled for the rest of the day. His focus was all over the place and he managed to screw up almost as many orders as he got right. Eventually his boss dismissed him early because he had started pacing anxiously behind the counter and was making everyone nervous.

And to top it all off, Albert wasn't there when he got home. Falling down on his bed, Race swore softly, allowing himself three full seconds of self pity. Of course this was happening to him. The universe seemed to enjoy torturing him. It had been months, why did the past decide to come back and bite him in the ass now? He hadn't seen Spot since March, so why did Spot want to talk to him now?

An unexpected but not exactly unpleasant rush coursed through him when he thought about the prospect of seeing Spot again. He had liked Spot, had liked him a lot; he had been the first person since Albert to make Race’s heart beat faster. At first he had felt betrayed by his own heart.  _ Aren't we in love with Albert? _ He had asked. Yes, had answered his heart, but Albert was unattainable and Spot was great and willing to give Race a chance. So he'd agreed to go out with Spot.  _ Just one time, it's not gonna change anything. _

Except it had changed everything because another date followed the first one and then another and, before he knew it, Race was spending more nights at Spot's than home. And it was good. Spot treated him right and made him laugh and helped him forget about his worries for a while. So maybe he was harsh in his ways sometimes and maybe he was bad at talking about feelings, but then again, so was Race.

One day, they were lying in bed (not cuddling, Spot wasn't one to cuddle, much to Race’s despair), and Race asked him out properly. He had been so confused at the time. Part of him told him this was the right choice, the good thing to do. Spot was great and Race liked him and, in time, he could learn to love him. Another part of him was frantically screaming Albert's name.  _ Albert doesn't want me _ , he'd told that part. It was time to let go of him.

And it had worked, at least for a while. Being with Spot meant he had less time to spend at home and therefore, less time to see Albert's pretty face and hear his sarcastic remarks and stupidly cute stories. He knew Albert didn't like Spot (and he couldn't figure out why, how stupid had he been) so he avoided bringing him home as much as he could. It worked for a few months. Race was still in love with Albert, there was no denying that, but at least he didn't feel the need to pin Albert against a wall and kiss him senseless every time he so much as was in the same room as him. Not as often, at least.

Then Spot got his new job. It was everything he'd been working for for years and Race was happy for him. No, the new work hours wouldn't affect their relationship, he'd told Spot. Seeing him less would mean nothing. But he had been lying, because Race was a creature of habit and he craved love and affection most of all. Now that his primary source worked too much to have time for him, Race turned to the only source that had never once failed him, which was to say Albert. How many nights had he spent in Albert's arms, whining about nobody wanting him when the one person who had always wanted him held him and told him some day somebody would? Race was a terrible person.

He heard the front door open and close and footsteps making their way down the corridor. Albert was home. Race was dying to go and wrap himself around him, but he stayed right here. Albert would ask what was wrong and Race didn't feel ready to tell him.

Albert sang under his breath as he went back into the kitchen and Race had to stifle a laugh. He had an awful singing voice, but that didn't stop him from destroying The Killers in the shower every morning. A soft knock on his door brought him to focus.

“Are you there?” Just hearing Albert's voice made something inside Race sit still.

“Come in.”

Albert opened the door and slowly maneuvered it closed with his hip. He had two mugs in his hands and placed one on Race's nightstand before climbing into bed and leaning against Race with a sigh. Race smiled down at him and leaned in to kiss Albert softly. Albert's eyes closed even before Race's lips touched his, and that made Race stupidly happy.

“Hi.” He breathed against Albert's lips.

Albert smiled his small smile. “Hey.”

Race traced one of Albert's fair eyebrows with his finger, unable to stop touching him just yet. He asked in a whisper. “How was your day?”

“It's getting better.”

Race's heart leaped in his chest. No matter how much time passed, Albert would always have this effect on him. He needed to tell him. He deserved to know about the text and Spot, but what came out when he opened his mouth was:

“I love you so much it hurts, did you know that?”

Albert made a non-committal sound and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. Race could hear the smile in his voice when he said. “I was aware of it.”

“Good, that was my intention. Now you'd better put that mug down because I plan on cuddling you to death.”

Albert laughed but obliged, and a minute later he had his arms around Race and his chin rested upon his head. This was what Race thought about when he thought about home: Albert's arms around him, stolen kisses, telling each other about their days in hushed tones. It was the type of relationship Race had thought he'd never have. Simple and domestic and, above it all, easy.

Because being with Albert was as easy for him as breathing. Even if they argued (it wasn't often, but it happened), Race found it easier to argue with Albert than with anyone else. Maybe it was because they knew each other so well it was easy for them to discuss the things that bothered or upsetted them and find ways to solve them.

None of it mattered, though, when Albert was carding his hand through Race's hair and telling him about something dumb and cute one of the kids in his class had done.

“Spot texted me today,” said Race tentatively. The effect this words had on Albert was immediate. He went still and Race felt the tension that had slowly been leaving Albert's body return at once. He regretted having to do this, but it was necessary. “He wants to talk.”

Albert took a very precise breath. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing yet. I wanted to tell you first.” He brought Albert's hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles.

“Well, what are you gonna tell him?” Race could tell how much Albert dreaded this just by his tone. He almost didn't answer just to spare him. He needed to tell him, though.

“I wanna talk to him.” He really wanted. He was curious and wanted to know what Spot had to tell him. Besides, he cared for Spot and wanted to see him again.

“That's okay.” It wasn't okay, not for Albert, and Race knew it. He also knew he wouldn't object. It wasn't his decision to make but he would respect Race’s even if he hated it. That's why Race loved him so much.

Race disentangled himself from Albert's arms and cupped Albert's face with his hands. He rested his forehead against Albert's and closed his eyes, trying to convey all his gratitude and love with his actions. He stroked Albert's cheekbones with his thumbs reverently.

“Thank you.”

Albert grabbed his wrists and breathed out slowly. “Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

Race smiled and pecked him on the lips. “When have I ever done anything stupid?”

Albert laughed. “Do you want me to list it alphabetically or chronologically?”

 

***

 

Theoretically, Race knew meeting Spot at his workplace was better for both of them. It was centric, close to Race's apartment and everyone there knew him, so, in case Spot tried to pull something sketchy, Race would be safe. Not that he thought Spot would ever do something like that, but he had been watching too much  _ Law and Order _ recently.

When he had left home that morning, Albert had been sitting in the kitchen table, a forgotten cup of tea going cold in front of him as he read the news on his phone. He was wearing one of Race's shirts that almost reached his knees and his ridiculously big reading glasses. He looked adorable and Race found himself staring longer than would have been acceptable had it not been Albert and had he not looked that cute. Race had just kissed the top of his head and wished him a good day at work.

“Thank you,” had said Albert, tilting his head backwards to smile at him. “Oh, by the way, Crutchie is coming over after work, we want to try something for the kids.”

And his eyes had lit up like they always did when he talked about the children in his class. Race had smiled down at him and kissed him once. “That sounds fun, see you tonight.”

“See you.”

Race smiled down at the table he was wiping at the memory of Albert's disheveled hair. He was aware he was being a sap, but he was in love, so who could blame him?

His shift ended in a few minutes and he'd told Spot to come then. He looked up at the clock behind the counter. Ten more minutes. Race told himself he wasn't nervous, but his shaking hands betrayed him. To help calm his nerves he got behind the counter and made himself his favorite drink.

Seven minutes.

Race checked his shirt for stains and then he scolded himself mentally. This wasn't a date, it didn't matter if his shirt had coffee stains on it. Except maybe he wanted to look good when seeing Spot again. He decided to let it go and wiped the already clean counter.

Five minutes.

Spot would probably be late. He liked making entrances and making people wait for him.

Three minutes.

The girl who had the next shift walked in and greeted Race with a nod. Race didn't know her real name (her name tag read only Smalls and Race had never asked) but she was cool enough and Race liked her from the brief conversations he'd had with her.

One minute.

Race took her arrival as a sign to take a table and wait for Spot. Once he had made sure none of the customers needed him, he took his coffee and found a table by the big window overlooking the street. He fiddled with the case of his phone, wondering whether to text Albert or not. He was probably still at work.

Exactly six minutes after the accorded time, Spot walked in. He was wearing his work clothes and Race's heart skipped a beat because he looked great.  _ Admitting he looks good means nothing, he is handsome.  _

He waved at Spot and panicked when Spot saw him and started walking towards him with a smile. What was he supposed to do? Hug Spot? Shake his hand? Do nothing? Why had he agreed to do this? He cursed his hands for starting sweating and tried to wipe them on his pants without being noticed.

Spot saved him from having to choose when he sat in front of him and resting his hands on the table. He was still smiling and Race resisted the urge to frown. It wasn't that Spot didn't smile (he had, in fact, a very cute smile, what with his tooth gap and everything), it was that it was unusual for him to smile so openly without any apparent reason.

Suddenly, Race wanted to be anywhere but here. This had been a bad idea, a very bad idea. Why had he thought that seeing Spot again would be okay? He fiddled a little more with his phone case and avoided looking at Spot.

“Race, how is everything?” Race jumped at the sound of Spot’s voice. He dropped his phone on the table involuntarily and tried not to be offended by Spot's amused expression.

He stuttered. “I- Uh- Everything's fine, thanks.”

Spot might have felt his unease because he raised his hands with a sheepish expression. “Hey, relax.”

That struck Race as extremely funny for some reason. He let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, right, I- I need to relax because- because…” He flailed his hands around wildly when he couldn't come up with a reason.

Groaning, he let his head fall on the table and covered it with his hands. His anxiety was eating him alive. He was already regretting this and it had barely been five minutes since Spot had walked in. He wanted to go home.

A hand nuzzled his arm. “Race, I-”

Suddenly Race couldn't take it anymore. “No, Spot, stop beating around the bush, okay? You don't talk to me for months and now we're all good again? If I remember correctly you were the one who didn't wanna talk to me when we broke up. I wanted to do this right, Spot!”

“Then why date me when you were in love with someone else?!”

There it was. So that was what Spot wanted to discuss. He was right, of course, but that didn't make it sting less. Race knew that, objectively, he had used Spot. It might not have been his intention, but it was what he did. All the anger abandoned him.

He looked at Spot. He was tense and his expression was hurt, but he didn't look like he might start a fight. Race knew he owed him an explanation but the prospect of talking about it made him unbelievably tired.

“Look, Spot, I’m sorry. I know it sounds dumb and like an excuse, but I truly am.” He held his head with his hands to collect himself. “What I’m trynna say is that I understand if you hate me now, although I would very much prefer if you didn't.”

Spot shook his head and pinched his lower lip with his fingers. Race knew he did that when he was thinking. “I don't hate you, I don't think. I'm just- I don't understand why would you date me if you were so in love with him.”

_ Better get this over with quickly _ , thought Race. He took a deep breath and started talking. He told Spot everything: his falling in love with Albert at a young age, his self denial, the refusal to let his feelings for his best friend ruin their friendship, his meeting Spot and  _ liking him very much _ , his decision to take his chance with Spot and try and forget Albert and his subsequent failure to do so.

Spot listened quietly, not speaking until Race was done, only stopping him once or twice to ask sensible questions. Race was reminded why he had liked him so much. He knew how to listen and how to make you feel like whatever you were telling mattered.

“I think I can understand now,” said Spot when Race was finished. “And I think I owe you an apology, too.”

Race stared at him, bewildered. “You don't. I used you and you have every right to hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” Spot repeated. “I can understand why you did what you did. Still, the way I behaved was childish and immature and I'm sorry for everything.”

“I'm sorry, too,” added Race in a small voice. “Does this mean no hard feelings?”

Spot nodded, a smile starting to form on his face. “No hard feelings. Does this also mean we get to hang out sometime?”

Race nodded fervently. Even when he wasn't dating him he had loved spending his time with Spot. It was one of the things he missed most. “Hell, yeah.”

“Won't Albert get… uh- jealous or something?” Asked Spot.

_ Not jealous, but insecure _ , thought Race. Still… “He is not the boss of me. I'll talk to him about this and he'll understand that it's important to me.”

“That is… very mature, actually,” said Spot, who looked kind of surprised, “I'm not sure we would have ever managed something like that.”

Race realized he was trying to act normally about the whole break-up ordeal. And why wouldn't he? They were both (somewhat) rational adults and had the capacity to adjust to circumstances.  _ I'll get there _ , Race told himself,  _ baby steps _ .

“Yeah, we weren't much into discussing these things,” said Race, maybe a little too late. Spot was kind enough to ignore his hesitation.

“By the way, I wanted to ask you: why are you still working here?”

Race took a look around him, taking the small coffee shop in. He loved it fiercely. It was  _ quirky _ , that was the only word to describe it. Mismatched tables and chairs took up most of the space, with tiny cacti pots atop of them. The counter was narrow and packed with pastries, with barely enough room to fit two people behind it. On the far wall there was a diminute library, merely a few dozen beaten books stacked on three makeshift shelves nailed to the wall. The remaining walls were covered in framed pictures of random people doing mundane things such as lacing their shoes or buying a newspaper. Race remembered something about the owner being a photographer before she opened the shop.

He shrugged. “I like it. And they pay me well.”

Spot stared incredulously at him. “Race, you have a physics degree, you should be working for the damn NASA instead of making coffees and cleaning counters.”

Race had heard that argument far too many times to be bothered by it. Yes, he had a majors degree in physics, yes, he was far too smart for this life, but the most important part of it, the part that most people didn't realise, was that Race was lazy as hell. The jobs on the physics field required an amount of working hours he wasn't willing to waste. He had gotten his job during his last year at college and he had quickly fallen in love with it. He loved it so much that, when the time had come and he graduated from college, he hadn't bothered looking for a job on his field, he had simply taken the full-time contract and used his savings to move in with Albert on their battered (but still  _ their _ ) flat.

Race shrugged again. He couldn't help the fond smile that appeared on his face when he looked at the shop again. “Told you, I like it.”

Spot made a frustrated sound. “But…”

**Author's Note:**

> And you finished another one of my impossible works, congratulations!!
> 
> Regarding the new series, I'm working on a few snippets that I'm not sure if I should post. Let me know if any of you would be interested in here or in tumblr @thewintersobber
> 
> Your comments are always so sweet and they give me the motivation I need to keep writing!!


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